


How To End a Five-Year-Long Conversation

by pendules



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The first thing he says is, "You're allowed to hate me."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	How To End a Five-Year-Long Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from Brand New's _The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot_.

_If it makes you less sad  
I will die by your hand_

The first thing he says is, "You're allowed to hate me."

And then, "You're allowed to be you. You're allowed to be the person I met five years ago. You're allowed to get angry when you're hurt and cold when you're emotional."

"You don't tell me what I'm allowed to do."

"Exactly." Xabi smiles. Exactly.

 

 _I hope you find out what you want_

Steven's good at loving big. He's been doing it for years. It's the small things that are harder. They're too delicate, too fragile. He doesn't know how to handle them well. He's clumsy; he's out of his element. He doesn't know how to handle Xabi well.

"You're too subtle," he tells him once.

"What?"

"You try too hard. Sometimes, you have to state the obvious, mess up your words, be stupid, get in a fight, I dunno. Something."

Steven, Steven's most eloquent when he's trying his hardest not to be. He's talking softly, and Xabi realises this is the third, fourth, fifth time he's tried to insult him and failed. This is a sign, maybe.

(Xabi tells him, afterwards, in the locker room that he's not so obvious himself. Stevie thinks he's taking his advice without realising it: he's being stupid, being confused, not understanding for once.

Stevie wants something. Of course. Neither of them know just what yet.)

*

People say they don't understand love. How can they not? The only thing to understand about love is that there's no understanding love.

Xabi tells him, tells him before boarding a plane, _You know what will make you happy. So just do it. It's simple._

It's not, of course. On the outside (and that's where he is now; it's where he'll stay, and yet, there's always, always another place for him too), it's easy. It's easy to criticise, easy to judge, easy for it to be easy. He's doing it again, being stupid, but on purpose this time. Letting him win intentionally. Maybe that feels better.

 

 _I already know what I am_

(The first time Xabi kisses him, he says, "Is this obvious enough?")

They're lying, like they all do. They enjoy it. The attention. Sometimes.

Steven says when you have cameras on you, you instantly develop multiple personality disorder. You have no choice in the matter. You have to leave some of you behind. You have to be someone else for ten minutes, ninety minutes.

Xabi says, "We're all fake anyway. We're different people around different people. Even ourselves."

Steven asks if he knows who the real one is.

"Most of the time."

*

When he signs to Madrid, he knows exactly which one is real:

The one who is going to love Steven forever but still get on a plane to Spain.

 

 _And if it makes you less sad  
We'll start talking again_

The thing about secret lovers is this: they're truthful. People don't tell the truth; it's not like TV where you have all your flaws pointed out to you. People know other people, their natures, their habits, their fears, but they never come out and admit it. It becomes complicated at the surface, above ground, if you and your secret lover are something else up there. Acquaintances. Friends. Team-mates. You can hide away little glances, and lingering touches, and the smell of sex, in little boxes, in a coat pocket, in the bottom drawer, but you can't hide _him_ away like it should be.

It should have been easy, should have been a stranger, someone no one he ever knew would ever know. Not someone people see him on TV with celebrating goals. Love isn't easy? Well, most of the time, it's not very fair either.

Xabi knows him just as well up there, and that's fucking terrifying.

*

After he settles in, Xabi will start calling him every two weeks, sometimes more often, and they don't pretend. They've forgotten how to play pretend with each other, and they don't want to remember.

They remain secret lovers with an ocean between.

 

 _You can tell me how vile  
I already know that I am_

"You're still allowed to hate me."  
 _I'm remembering too much, but I won't stop calling you._

"I'm still considering it."  
 _I can't bear you hating yourself. Don't. Please._

 

 _I'll grow old  
And start acting my age_

Football is youth and age, history and future, meeting in the middle. Experienced minds and young, strong legs. Boys and their grandfathers. Eras converging.

Istanbul was as much about epic battles of the past as about the new generation. For them, it's been five years. A lifetime for youth. The past is old, and so is the future. It's ironic. It's a nice, clean circle, and Xabi would like that if he didn't hate it.

*

It's a comeback, another. Barely, like they always are. Xabi was worried, for a second there, for more. It scares him a little that three years before, the scoreboard said 3-0 at halftime and he didn't break a sweat. It's different. It's all different.

"You can't do this forever. None of us can."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Steven's legitimately unconcerned, doesn't notice his seriousness.

"It's too...unpredictable. Have you ever thought that it is— _was_ all luck?"

He turns to look at Xabi, genuine surprise in his narrowed eyes. "Wow. At least now you're not being subtle at all."

"Steven, I —"

"You don't want to be here?" He's doing a good job at hiding his nervousness.

"I wish we could do this forever. I do. But we don't have forever."

"And what will you have if you leave?" He's entirely masked it now, or it's just gone of its own accord, maybe being gradually replaced by anger.

"Something new. Something different."

"Something sure?"

"Nothing's sure."

"Some things are sure, you ungrateful bastard!"

Steven doesn't talk to him for a week and a half.

 

 _I'll be a brand new day  
In a life that you hate_

Xabi comes to Liverpool when Steven is starting to think it might never get better. He thinks this, but he stays. He stays. He has to be sure, but he'll never be sure - so he'll stay forever, waiting. And more. It will be more he stays for. Xabi says playing for your home will be the best thing you ever do. But he's here; he's here across the water from there, far away, and Steven doesn't ask. He won't, until Xabi will tell him, a whole year after May.

("It takes a while to realise where home is, and that you can maybe have more than one." This, he thinks, Steven will never, ever understand. It's different. Things are allowed to be different. Double standards can't be helped sometimes. Sometimes, it's okay to not understand. Steven's right about that.)

*

"Three?"

"What?"

"Can you split your heart into three?"

"It's not about hearts, Steven."

"What is it about?"

"More important things than football."

"Oh, now you're just making shit up."

"Yeah, maybe."

"You can, you know."

"Can what?"

"Can split your heart into three. I did."

Steven feels it hurt when he watches him play the first time. He's right: it's about more important things.

 

 _A crown of gold  
A heart that's harder than stone_

Luck happens sometimes. It's what happens when the game isn't fair, but you still come out on top. When your chances are slim, but you pull through. Luck is, really, what they've been doing all along. Luck is knowing how to respond when it's absolutely critical. Luck takes a lot of heart. Luck takes the right amount of heart, the right amount of emotion to the right amount of strength. Sometimes, you have to separate yourself from something you love to save it. Sometimes, it's about not giving in to love to really earn it.

It's a bad thing, sometimes, passion. It's weakening. Steven's always known how to freeze it up, freeze his heart, when he needs to. Lately, however, it's becoming more difficult. You do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, say too much. Give away too much. He's supposed to be better at taking. Better at being selfish for the right reasons.

They win a shiny, silver Cup, and that kind of overshadows ( _ruins_ ) everything that happens afterwards.

*

"I think I'm feeling too much," Xabi had said. "And it'll keep getting worse. It's too much."

They believed, last season; they believed with red, throbbing hearts and bright red blood pulsating through their veins. They believed, because this is Liverpool, and it's been far too long. They believed, and they almost did it.

It's colder this year, colder again, hearts freezing up, and they start losing.

 

 _And it hurts a whole lot  
But it's missed when it's gone_

Xabi leaves when, maybe, they're closer than they've ever been. They've been getting closer, getting better every year. It should _always_ be their year, but it's looking more and more likely, more and more _probable_ (and it always is _possible_ ; anything is always possible). It's scary, not just to the opposition, but to themselves. The gravity of it is a little scary. Better to let it happen when they're not expecting it, when _no one_ is expecting it. Better to do it like Liverpool does it.

They do some great things. But it's not good enough.

*

Chelsea beats them 2-0, and Steven's on the phone, saying things he's not supposed to, to someone he's maybe not supposed to.

"It's - I don't know. Something's missing. A spark."

And yeah, he's never talked like this. It kind of hurts. Hurts for _what_ , Xabi doesn't know.

It'll be awhile, but there's the time he can say, "I want to lose a game with you again."

"What?"

"Well, I want to _almost_ lose a game with you again."

"You said it was too much."

"It was. It is. I miss it."

"Someday," Steven says.

Someday, in a dream. Someday, in another life. Someday, when it's Istanbul again and they know they'll be having this conversation five years later.

 

 _Call me a safe bet  
I'm betting I'm not_

"You're not supposed to go."

"Steven, you've never been good at knowing what's good for other people."

"You saying I'm selfish?"

"Yes, and I'm saying that sometimes, that's a good thing."

"But it's not now?"

"No, it still is. But I'm still leaving."

 

 _I'm glad that you can forgive  
Only hoping as time goes  
You can forget_

The last conversation they have (though, of course, it's not).

"You're sure about this, aren't you?" Steven doesn't know if he's joking anymore. It's hard to tell. Lots of things are now.

"Yeah. Pretty sure." Steven can _see_ the ends of his mouth curving slightly.

"Were you sure about Liverpool?" Because he has to say something; he has to. He has to say anything that's not "Goodbye," because God help him, he's never going to say that.

"No. No, I wasn't. But look how that turned out. Everything happens because it's supposed to. At that particular time."

"You could have before."

"Yeah, I could've. But I'm doing it now. I'm sure like I was sure about one thing in Istanbul, to use terms you'd understand."

"Are you going to tell me or will this be how you torture me for the rest of my life?"

"I was sure that it'd be okay to lose as long as we never stopped fighting."

"Okay to lose? Really?" He exaggerates the raised eyebrows out of habit.

"Of course, I know better now."

He knows he's smiling for real now. Xabi is definitely going to torture him for the rest of his life.

"There's more than one way to win, Steven. You should know that by now."

The next (last) thing he hears is a call for boarding over the loudspeaker.

(Only it's not, because when Steven says, "So, I'll see you around," Xabi says that dreaded word.

Or maybe he doesn't, because Steven's replaced it in his mind with some bad pun, like, "It was a pleasure serving under you, Captain." Because stories should end with a joke, or never end at all.)

He starts wondering after how exactly it had "turned out." He'll always remember, but he won't ask for a long time.

*

When he does, Xabi just says, "Maybe it could have happened differently. Maybe it could have been good somewhere else. But I wasn't somewhere else. And I never wanted to be."

Steven wants to ask, _Why did you leave then? WHY?_

Because how the fuck could he not be selfish? After everything, after his entire life. After Xabi.

He almost says "Goodbye" this time, almost doesn't call again.

 

 _And if it makes you less sad  
I'll take your pictures all down  
Every picture you paint  
I will paint myself out_

There's this way you separate yourself from something, someone, to keep it closer. Or maybe to help ease the pain now that it's far away. Gradually, they start not talking about some things (even though they keep talking). It comes naturally - they don't agree to anything, and it's not awkward. It's just. Time. It's passed. They haven't changed, but _things_ have changed, and it's always the accepting of that which we have to struggle with, which is hard, which we _have to do_. It's what we have to do to live, to move on, to be happy.

They lose another match, and Steven thinks, _I hope you're happy. You have to be._

 

 _So call it quits  
Or get a grip  
Say you wanted a solution  
You just wanted to be missed_

The last time they're lovers (without the ocean):

"Say you don't love me." At that, Steven lets out a breath that's almost a sigh.

"Or let me go. Either." He shakes his head, moves closer in the dark.

He takes both of Xabi's hands in his. "Stay. Please." It's not a plea. It's a whispered demand.

Xabi kisses him then, because if he says anything else, it might be, "Yes," and no, just no.

*

The last time they really talk like _this_ , but not the last things they say to each other that time:

"Maybe you're glad when we leave. It only makes you work harder to prove we should've stayed."

"So it's a good thing?"

"Eventually."

 

~*~

 

 _You are calm and reposed  
Let your beauty unfold_

There are some things Steven's always wanted to say, some things he spends years getting out (not because it's hard to say, but because he doesn't want it, this, to end, because when he says these things, there isn't much else left, not of him, not of them).

Xabi spends years waiting to hear it, years asking him the same question he knows the answer to, the answer he's afraid to say for the same reason.

 

 _Spring keeps you ever close_

May 25th, 2015. "It didn't ruin us; it didn't cause the heartbreak when we couldn't repeat it. It gave us hope. It gave us the most important weapon we've ever had."

 

 _You are second-hand smoke_

"You were the most dangerous thing in my life, not contact sports or bar brawls. And I could never forget that, as long as I live. You tainted me."

 

 _You are so fragile and thin_

"You're not strong all the time. You're not sure all the time, or smart, or perfect. And you're good at hiding it. But _I've seen you_. And you're beautiful."

 

 _Standing trial for your sins_

And then, the confession, the answer: "I'm not waiting for you to hate me. I'm waiting for everyone else to."

 

 _Holding onto yourself the best you can_

"I hope you still know which one is the real you. I still know. I do. I always will."

 

 _You are the smell before rain_

"Sometimes, I don't know which is worse, missing something or waiting for something." Xabi's first sign of doubt in two years.

"Waiting, obviously. Missing means you already had it."

 

 _You are the blood in my veins_

"There's a difference between not loving you and hating you. But I don't either."

There is life before love, life after love. You love something. You lose it. You go on. You go on, because it was worth it. Because it wasn't fair, yet you won. It was A Good Thing.

 

~*~

 

 _Call me a safe bet  
I'm betting I'm not_

How it ends (for now):

"I miss you."

"I miss you too."


End file.
